


A Trickster's Tale

by Arkham_Wyntier



Category: Original Work
Genre: Aristocracy, Bandits & Outlaws, Fantasy, Fencing, Gen, Magic, Magical Artifacts, Masks, Nobility, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Swordfighting, Victorian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:40:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24334483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arkham_Wyntier/pseuds/Arkham_Wyntier
Summary: Morgan Crane is a man concerned with only one thing - freedom. Waging a one man war against the aristocracy he walked away from, his only goal is to live his life the way he sees fit, free from responsibility or duty. In taking up the mantle of the mythical trickster-thief Arsene, however, he’s unknowingly placed himself under an enormous responsibility to the name he’s stolen.When Adele Cardinal unexpectedly walks back into Morgan’s life for the first time in years, he’ll quickly find he can no longer run from his obligations - and that some ideals are worth risking everything for.





	A Trickster's Tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we are introduced to our... hero? Well, time will tell on that score.

Winter had given way to spring at last, and the skies above Minnuo were clearer than they’d been in months. The crescent moon and the tapestry of stars shone above the houses and towers of the city. A warm breeze blew from the west, calming the chill air that lingered from the long winter, from the northwestern corner, where the nobility danced the night away in their mansions and castles, walled off from the rest of the city, to the dockside slums where the common class rested in anticipation of the work dawn would bring.  
  
And yet, Minnuo was never silent. Not really. It merely changed between the City of the Day, and the City Of the Night.  
  
Somewhere, a clocktower rang out the hour. Once. Twice. Six times. Ten.  
  
The clocktower struck twelve. Midnight.  
  
Atop a tower, one lone figure crouched, grinning in the shadows. From here, he could see everything. The denizens of the city of night fell beneath his gaze, and never even knew he was there. Here, the young lovers escaping their parents' gaze, a stolen moment beneath the moon. Elsewhere, the revelers, whose vices knew neither time nor constraint. There, the nobles and merchants, making deals hidden in the shelter of shadows.  
  
 _And of course,_ the figure thought to himself, _the thieves._  
  
Beneath him, the rattling of wheels against stone echoed up, and a single horse-drawn carriage rolled down the cobblestone street. The carriage was painted black, nearly invisible in the night, and the driver covered his face with a leather hood. It was not, the man thought, a carriage it’s owner wanted to be recognized.  
  
From within his long trailing coat, the crouching figure slipped a bright porcelain mask and fixed it to his face. _Time to have some fun._ He stood from his spot, adjusted the rapier strapped to his belt, and leaped from the tower.  
  
For a moment, he simply reveled in the feeling of freefall, the sensation of wind flowing around him, and through his cloak. Seconds stretched for what felt like hours, and for that instant, he was a phantom of the dark, a wraith flowing like water through the night sky. But all good things must come to an end, and the ground was fast approaching. With a flare of his will, the runes and symbols woven into his cloak burned with violet light, and the tails of his coat billowed out like a black cloud. His momentum slowed to a crawl, and he stepped to the ground like stepping from a stair, directly in the path of the coming carriage.  
  
Calmly, he drew a small marble from within his coat and threw it into the street in front of the horses. With a bang, the air was filled with flashing lights and bright flames. It lasted only a heartbeat, but that was all it took. The horses bucked and cried, terrified by the bright and loud display; their driver struggled with the reigns as he tried desperately to maintain control of the frightened beasts, while the carriage careened to a halt.  
  
The masked man didn’t waste any time, already running towards the carriage. Work fast, he thought to himself. If his flare pellet hadn’t already drawn the attention of the night watch, the cries of the frightened horses had. He was working on a time limit, now. His heartbeat raced at the thought, and he grinned behind his mask.  
  
Racing past the cursing and flustered driver, who either didn’t notice him or was too busy keeping his horses from breaking their reigns to care, he came to the door of the black painted carriage. Locked, naturally, and the thief had neither time nor inclination to try and pick it.  
  
 _Hard way it is then,_ he thought to himself. The thief slipped a dagger from his belt, and the bright green runes carved into its blade began to glow. He thrust the blade into the lock and listened as the metal it was forged from burned away with a hiss, and the carriage door swung open, just in time for a pair of men to burst out, shortswords in hand.  
  
The thief was ready for them. His dagger cleaved through the blade of the first, leaving only the hilt behind. Before the second could attack, he tossed his dagger to his left hand and drew his rapier from its sheath. The second guard’s thrust was parried immediately, and a kick to his stomach had him doubled over in pain as his sword clattered to the ground.  
  
His compatriot tried using the broken hilt of his own weapon as a club while the thief was distracted but froze in his tracks when he found the tip of the thief’s rapier pointed against his throat.  
  
“Now I’m confident you know this works,” the thief said quickly, placing his dagger back on his belt. “You give me whatever your noble wants and I don’t make any further trouble for you tonight.”  
  
He didn’t wait for a reply before stepping into the carriage, keeping one eye on the disarmed guards the entire time, and his rapier never leaving his hand. _Now, what are you… oh. Interesting._  
  
Within the carriage sat a box, carved from black wood and inlaid with gold and ivory. Roughly the size of a jewelry box, it sat on an elevated podium in the carriage. The thief tilted his head in curiosity, his interest piqued.  
  
“Stop!” a voice called, shocking the thief back into reality. He glanced down the road and could see the night’s watch rushing down the street.  
  
Time’s up, the thief thought to himself. He snatched the small box from within the carriage, tucking it under one arm.  
  
“I said stop thief!” the man called out again, much closer now. He could hear the footsteps of at least half a dozen men approaching. He wasn’t about to wait for them to arrive.  
  
The violet runes on his coat started to burn again, trailing violet light around them. The guard still standing jumped back in surprise, but the thief ignored him. He could already feel his body becoming lighter as the strands of magic flowed around him.  
  
The thief leaped, and with his body so much lighter he traveled far higher and with more grace than normally. The coat’s magic carried him up, and onto the top of the carriage. He looked towards the horses, by now calmed down by their driver. He almost felt bad for this next part.  
  
“Excuse me, good sir,” he said to the cabby as he pointed his blade down at him. “But I’m in a rush.” The man got the message and leaped off the carriage, just as the thief through another series of flare pellets, this time behind the carriage. The horses startled once again and pulling the carriage, and its passenger, along for the ride. He waved to the startled Night’s Watch as he sailed past… and startled as the carriage shook and tumbled, causing the thief to stumble. What was-?  
  
“Now!” someone yelled before the carriage jerked again, more violently this time, and one of the Watchmen leaped onto the top of the carriage, blade drawn. The thief parried and knocked him back before looking down and- ah, so that was it. One of the younger deputies had actually slashed the wheels as the carriage went by and sent it tumbling. Clever and the thief would even say he was impressed, but now he was even more pressed for time.  
  
The thief looked around as the carriage jerked about and saw his opportunity. Willing his coat to make him all but weightless he counted the seconds until he was just within reach and-now! The thief jumped from the top of the carriage and his fingers just barely found purchase on the edge of a balcony a few feet out of reach of his pursuers.  
  
He climbed deftly up the side of the building and onto the roof. By the time his pursuers were able to reach it after him he’d be long gone. The rooftops of Minnuo stretched out before him, practically a highway all their own.

  


* * *

  


Morgan bowed to the applauding audience, a charming smile on his features all the way until the curtain dropped, obscuring them from view. On the other side of it, he could still hear some of them clapping, even as most of the audience was already filtering out of the theatre. He twirled his wooden sword in one hand before departing from his fellow cast members, grinning.  
  
“See Marcus?” he said turning to a broad-shouldered man, head, and shoulders taller than Morgan was. He was dressed in an aluminum costume, meant to resemble old-fashioned armor. A red streak of pain down the middle simulated a fatal stab wound. “And you said The Fall Of Minnessa wouldn’t draw a crowd! I’m telling you, Bartimaeus’ works will never go out of style!”  
  
Marcus rolled his eyes. “And you’ll not let me hear the end of it, I’m sure. Why don’t you go back to your chambers and check your costumes?” he said, before turning to the stagehands and giving directions to begin dismantling the sets. Morgan smiled slightly, before slipping away and up to the second floor where the players who lived in the theatre made their quarters.  
  
It was a small room, comparatively, though he had the second largest quarters in the theatre, with little furniture and only a small window. He knew his grandfather would have called it disgraceful for one of his relatives to live in such a “common” location. If Morgan was honest, that was half the reason he liked it. His rapier, the one thing of his family’s he deigned to keep, leaned in one corner of the room, sheathed. One wall was decorated by a collection of ornate theatre masks, painted in various colors. He was a collector of them, though his favorite, the one he’d worn the other night, was one he kept hidden.  
  
Wouldn’t do for it to be out in the open, all things considered, he thought to himself.  
  
Morgan removed the long black cloak, a heavy woolen one so different, so much more cumbersome than the rune-covered one he wore on other nights and draped it over the lone chair in the room. He knelt before his dresser and whispered a phrase.  
  
_“Beloved of the moon.”_  
  
A lock, hidden within the wood itself and hidden from the naked eye, clicked almost inaudibly. A compartment opened itself and a hidden drawer slid open. Morgan grinned.  
  
A white porcelain mask with purple lining around the eyes. A black cloak threaded with violet. A sheathed green dagger. His “tools of the trade” one might say. He moved the cloak aside, however, and found what he was looking for. A jewelry box inlaid with gold and ivory.  
  
Check your costumes Marcus had said. It was a code between the two of them. Check the merchandise. Meaning Marcus’ contacts had likely found a few potential buyers for… whatever this was. The box sadly remained locked tight. Hopefully, Morgan could fix that tonight.  
  
Morgan reached into the pockets of the cloak and pulled out a set of small metal tools bound together by a chain. Lockpicker’s tools. So long as the lock was a mundane one and not some form of enchanted, he should be able to open it all on his own. If not, well… there was always the dagger.  
  
There was a knock at the door and Morgan started.  
  
“Morgan?” came a feminine voice and he relaxed. It was Leah, Marcus’ younger sister.  
  
“Uh, not a good time Leah! Can you come back in a-”  
  
“Someone is, there’s, someone’s here to see you, Morgan.” She sounded uncharacteristically hesitant. Even… nervous?  
Morgan drew his bedspread over the box, concealing it, before going to the door.  
  
“What’s the problem Leah?” he said opening it. “Another fan here to-”  
  
“Morgan,” she said. “Your father is here. _Lord Crane._ ”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a story I wrote for my Fiction Writing class. It's complete, but there's more to come. Why am I not posting it all at once? Because the formatting on this site is a pain, and I lack the patience to go through the whole thing in one sitting.


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